


Open Up

by Desade, Eviscera



Series: Ouchy-Verse [5]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Arguing, Concussions, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mental Anguish, Oral Sex, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 03:43:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desade/pseuds/Desade, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eviscera/pseuds/Eviscera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is injured on a mission.  Loki does not take this news well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Up

It had been storming all day, and the gloomy weather did nothing to improve Loki’s melancholy mood.  Clint had been out on a mission for nearly two weeks, and the god found himself missing his Hawk terribly.  It was the longest they had spent apart since they had rediscovered one another, and while Loki was loathe to admit it, he was at a loss when left to his own devices.

 

The first few days he had managed to remain occupied, but as the hours stretched out in solitary silence, Loki found himself pacing the confines of their shared space.  Strange how the apartment felt so much smaller without Clint; so much less welcoming.  

 

By the sixth day, he had taken to sleeping on the couch; feeling adrift on a bed too large for one, and as the 11th day dawned the god had abandoned all pursuits other than simply waiting for his Hawk to return.

 

Loki was curled on the couch, watching the rain beat against the windows in a frantic staccato when Clint stumbled into the apartment.  The archer was drenched; his face pale, eyes shadowed, and he was clutching the door-jamb in a desperate bid to remain standing.

Shoving himself upright, Loki was off the couch and across the room in an instant, panic blooming hot in his chest.  As he reached Clint’s side, those steel-blue eyes rolled up to white, and with a rattling moan, the assassin collapsed in his arms.

 

Clint came to slowly, like floating up out of dark water.  Sounds were muted, as if his ears were stuffed with cotton.  He ached all over, but most especially his head; it was pounding with such violent force he was surprised he’d managed to sleep at all.

 

As his awareness grew, he realized he hadn’t been asleep at all; he’d passed out just as he stepped through his front door.

 

Well, that would teach him to ignore medical advice and leave the infirmary with a head injury.

 

He moved tentatively and found himself spread out on the couch, his back propped up with pillows, and as he blinked blearily around the room, he noticed everything was just slightly out of focus, as if his eyes were having trouble keeping up with the movement of his head.  He shut his eyes when the sudden feeling of vertigo threatened to make him nauseous, and wondered how he’d gotten to the couch in the first place.

 

Sounds of movement told Clint everything he needed to know, he would recognize that measured tread anywhere.  Loki entered the living room from the kitchen and stood beside the couch, and suddenly he felt a cold weight against the back of his neck.  Clint shivered at the feeling of the cold compress, then breathed a sigh of relief when the ache in his head subsided.  He felt long fingers carding through his hair, nearly petting him, until Clint realized they were looking for signs of injury.

 

“Hey, ow!” he complained when those seeking fingers brushed a particularly sore spot just behind his left ear.

 

He cracked his eyes open to glare up at Loki and then wished he hadn’t.  The look on the god’s face told him just how much he’d worried him with his dramatic entrance and subsequent swooning into his arms.

 

“Um, sorry about that,” Clint apologized, letting his eyes slip shut once again when the light became too much to tolerate.  “Guess I should have called to tell you I was back.”

 

Those fingers left his hair, and Clint tried not to let the mournful pout take over his face, but it was the first real touch he’d felt from the god in nearly two weeks and he didn’t want it to end quite so soon.  He listened to the sound of Loki moving again, and suddenly, the lights were dimmer, enough so he felt he could open his eyes without pain.

 

Loki had yet to say anything.  Clint resisted the urge to squirm under those piercing green eyes, and waited.

 

Sinking down to the couch at Clint’s side, Loki perched on the edge of the cushion, his hip pressed against the archer’s.  Leaning in, he searched Clint’s eyes, his own narrowing slightly in response to what he saw contained within the smaller man’s gaze.  There was something not quite _right_ ; pupils too large, nearly eclipsing the blue of his Hawks iris and the movements slightly erratic.

 

“While I was hoping you would soon return,” the god said in clipped tone.    ”I did not expect you in such a state.  You’ve obviously been injured.”

 

“Yeah, well.  Part of the job, y’know,” Clint replied sheepishly as Loki’s eyes continued to bore into his.

 

“And S.H.I.E.L.D. turned you lose like this,” Loki growled, his hands fisting in his lap.  ”Perhaps they need a reminder in taking better care of their own.”

 

“They didn’t ‘turn me loose’,” Clint said, sliding his eyes to the side evasively.  “Probably don’t even know I’m gone yet.”

 

Loki let out a slow breath, eyes narrowing further.  “You mean to say you simply ambled out the front door without a word?”

 

“I kind of… used the back door.”

 

Clint knew Loki was pissed; at S.H.I.E.L.D. for allowing him to leave in such a state, and at himself for _getting_ into such a state.  There was really only one reason he’d risked leaving the infirmary in the condition he was in, and that was because he just wanted to go _home_.  He’d gone so long without even hearing Loki’s voice, there hadn’t been much room in his head for common sense.  Once he’d gotten the idea, he’d been unable to shake it, and with his cognitive abilities compromised due to his concussion, he’d thought little of unhooking himself from the tubes and machines he’d been plugged into and leaving.

 

He was beginning to wish he’d at least stayed long enough for the pain killers.  Falling two stories into a glass ceiling, protected by body armor or not, was going to leave a mark.  They’d bandaged the worst of his cuts and made sure nothing was broken, and really, that was all Clint could muster the energy to care about.  He could deal with concussions; he’d had them plenty of times.

 

Nat had told him once that she swore she could _see_ him getting dumber each time he hit his head.  Whatever, she was just jealous she couldn’t take a fall as gracefully as he could.

 

“What _are_ you talking about?” Loki’s voice cut into his musings.  “What has that red-headed woman got to do with this?”

 

Oh.  Clint must have been talking out loud again.

 

“Nothing,” he said, waving Loki’s confusion off with a flick of a bandaged wrist.  “Look, I’m sorry I worried you, but I’m fine.  Bump on the head, a few scrapes and… Oh.”  Looking down, he saw that the bandage around his upper forearm had been bled through.  “Well, that will probably need stitches.”

 

Loki hissed at the sight of the bloodied gauze wrapped tight around that corded forearm.  Pushing up from the couch, the god stalked toward the bedroom, muttering under his breath.  

 

Clint huffed out a deep sigh and closed his eyes, allowing his head to fall back against the pillows.  Loki was obviously far more pissed off than he’d previously thought, and he just hoped that he could defuse the situation before the god went utterly ballistic.

 

A few minutes later footfalls passed behind the couch as Loki headed into the kitchen.  Clint listened as a cupboard door was opened, and then shut with a bit more force than necessary.  He winced at the slight ringing in his ears that accompanied the loud noise.  The sound of water caused Clint to open his eyes and look toward the kitchen just as Loki reemerged carrying a basin and the first aid kit they kept in the bathroom closet.

 

Setting the basin on the coffee table, Loki sank back down to Clint’s side and opened the first aid kit.  The god’s mouth was set in a hard line as he rummaged through the contents, coming up with a fresh roll of gauze and a few steri-strips.  He took Clint’s arm and began unwrapping the soiled bandage, gently peeling away the material from the jagged wound in the archer’s forearm.  As it was fully revealed, Loki sucked in a harsh breath and speared Clint with a fervent look.

 

“What happened to you, my Hawk,” he asked, his tone low and indignant.

 

“Fell,” Clint said, watching as the wound was uncovered.  His eyes widened slightly.  He didn’t remember it being that bad.

 

“‘Fell;’…” Loki deadpanned, wiping the wound clean and inspecting it closely.

 

“Mmhm,” Clint hummed, his eyes fixed on the gash in his arm.  That was going to leave a nasty scar.  He hissed at the motions of Loki cleaning the blood away, but the pain was oddly muted, more an ache, really.

 

“I don’t believe you were injured this badly from a mere fall,” Loki said, spearing him with a glare before bending to the task of dressing the wound.  “What more?”

 

Clint mulled over his words as carefully as his addled brain would allow.  “Um.. it was a _really_ long fall… through some glass… and I landed on more glass… and then glass landed on _me_.  And I hit my head.  Probably have a concussion.  S’what the doc told me, anyway.”

 

There, that should answer some questions.  He really hoped so, because his head was starting to hurt again, despite the compress, and he just wanted Loki to stop being his nurse and go back to being his…

 

Whatever he was.  Clint’s brow furrowed as he tried to pin a label on their relationship.  ‘Boyfriend’ sounded too juvenile, and ‘lover’ had that L-word in it.  He wasn’t quite ready to be comfortable slinging that word around, it was dangerous and could end up causing more hurt than falling off a building.

 

Loki’s hands were gentle as they worked on patching him back up, even if the rest of him was tense with anger, his mouth a thin line, brows drawn in a frown.  Clint sighed and looked away; this was not how he’d hoped his return home would be.

 

Loki fought to keep the tremors in his hands still as he dressed Clint’s wounds.  The panic that had set in upon the archer’s return had morphed into a burning rage that roiled in the god’s belly and set his teeth on edge.  His thoughts whorled, twisting in upon themselves and firing off questions that Loki was sure his Hawk would be hesitant to answer.

 

But Loki had to _know_.  Who did this?  And why?  Did they still live?  And if so, where could they be found?  The god itched to teach them the error in thinking that they could harm that which was _his_ and escape intact.

 

And the crux of the matter; how could he impress upon Clint the need to be more cautious?

 

Loki was painfully aware of the fact that his Hawk was mortal.  No matter how indestructible the archer may fancy himself, he was as _fragile_ as any other human, and just as easily ended.

 

An ache rose in Loki’s throat at that realization, and he immediately pushed away the thought of losing Clint, focusing instead on tending to the ragged gash on his forearm.  As he drew the edges of the wound together and fastened the steri-strips into place, the god’s rage grew.

 

“How did you fall from your perch,” Loki ground out.  ”Who was responsible for this?”

 

Shit, Loki was _really_ pissed.  How was Clint supposed to answer his questions and still keep his job?  He couldn’t just tell him everything, national security and all that, but he had to tell him _something_.

 

“I fell because my perch… got blown up,” Clint said, his eyes flicking to gauge the emotional weather on Loki’s face, and dropping just as quickly when he saw the black rage building behind his eyes.

 

“Blown up…”  Loki’s voice was dangerously quiet, and Clint gave in to the urge to fidget, pain shooting up his spine and into the back of his head like an ice-pick.  “Who dares make such an attempt on your life?”

 

Oh, and here was the part Clint was dreading.  The questions he really couldn’t answer; not because he didn’t know, but because this was dangerous, possibly vital information that not just anyone could be privy to.  He was actually surprised Fury brought him in on this mission, given that he knew exactly with whom he was sharing a bed, but he was determined to get back into the Director’s good graces since his little performance in his office.  He was slowly coming back to where he’d been before all of this began, and he didn’t want to destroy all the progress he’d made by letting high-level intel slip to what Fury still regarded as a potentially hostile enemy.

 

Clint knew Fury wasn’t going to find what he wanted in order to get Loki shipped off somewhere else, but he also didn’t want to give the one-eyed schemer any reason to try.  Loki couldn’t know what he’d been up to, or why, or with whom, because, even if he never did anything with that information, it would be something Fury could use against him.  Clint wouldn’t be the one to seal Loki’s fate if it ever came to that.

 

No, his mission would have to stay a secret, for Loki’s sake more than his own.

 

“Can’t tell you that.  Classified,” he finally said in answer to Loki’s question.

 

If Clint had thought Loki was burning with rage before, he was utterly frozen by it now.  He could almost feel the temperature in the room drop, and his eyes darted up to meet those of the god beside him.  He swallowed the nervous lump in his throat when he saw the extent of Loki’s ire.

 

The god’s lip curled, and he took a deep breath, fighting to remain outwardly calm in the face of Clint’s denial.  But all the while, his thoughts screamed at him, _‘Can’t tell me? **Won’t** tell me?!  More secrets, hidden away.  Never the whole truth.  Doesn’t **trust** you…’  _He dropped his gaze back to the wound he was dressing, the rage thrumming through his body, saturated in each and every beat of his heart.

 

Loki remained silent, afraid that his voice would betray the depth of anger he felt, so instead he reached for the roll of gauze and slowly began wrapping it around Clint’s forearm.  

 

“You understand that it’s nothing personal, right?  I can’t tell _anybody_ those things…not just you,” Clint pressed.

 

Loki’s eyes snapped up to meet the muddled blue of his Hawk’s, the green flaring bright with barely restrained ire.  ”I am _not_ just ‘anybody’, Clint,” he hissed in a trembling tone.  ”At least, I had hoped I was not considered as such.  I was of the opinion that what we share…whatever it may be called…set me apart.  But if you do not trust me to hold your secrets, then so be it.”

 

Clint’s entire body flinched at those words, and he turned his head away so quickly it sent a fresh spike of pain through his skull.  His vision skewed dangerously sideways, enough to threaten the nausea again, but Loki’s words called up a hurt worse than any concussion he’d ever had in his life.

 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Clint said, his voice subdued to keep from betraying the tremors he could feel rising in his throat.  His head was pounding almost loud enough to drown out the sound of his own voice, it was hard to think clearly and he _needed_ to be able to explain but it was impossible to do that right now.

 

There was a ripping sound, and then Loki was taping the gauze in place.  He rose from his spot beside the couch and gathered his supplies together, never once looking Clint’s way.

 

“It matters not,” Loki said, his voice cold.  “Keep your secrets, Barton.”

 

The hurt in Clint’s chest swelled at the sound of his last name in that quietly seething tone.  It reminded him pointedly of the Loki he once knew.  To think he’d regressed back to that, because of _him_ , was almost enough to make him sick, concussion or not.

 

“Don’t,” he ground out, making no effort to hide the pain in his voice.  “You know I trust you, it’s not about that.”

 

Loki turned a narrow-eyed glare at Clint and said,  “Tell me, then.  What _is_ it about?”

 

That was a loaded question.  It was about so many things, Clint’s poor brain couldn’t begin to list them all.

 

S.H.I.E.L.D. still considered Loki a potential threat.  Giving him mission details about something they were convinced could be used to cause monumental damage to the vast majority of the population was definitely not something he should do if he wanted to keep breathing.

 

Fury was still looking for any reason to dump Loki back to where he came from, and if it was discovered Clint was sharing intel with him, that would be the extent of his mercy.  Loki would go back, and Clint would have to live with the guilt of knowing it was his fault.

 

Loki knowing about the danger he routinely found himself in would only cause a rift between them he wasn’t sure their newly-formed bond was strong enough to hold up to.  Clint wasn’t about to give up his job, he was damn good at what he did and, as shady as S.H.I.E.L.D. so often proved it could be, it was the lesser of the various evils.  Loki would be adamant that he stop endangering himself in the employ of an agency who had a tendency to use up its assets without remorse.

 

So there was the sticking point.  Those were his reasons.  And Clint couldn’t voice a single one.

 

He dropped his gaze from Loki’s, and stayed silent.

 

Loki watched Clint carefully as he obviously struggled to come up with an answer for the god. _’The head injury seems to have impacted his normally stoic nature,’_ he mused, feeling a twinge of concern as a myriad of emotions swirled across Clint’s face.  

 

Foremost was worry, and that piqued Loki’s curiosity; to the point that it momentarily overrode the sting of being denied the knowledge he sought.  What would cause Clint to worry so?  And at whom was that worry directed?

 

When the archer’s face crumpled, and he dropped his gaze, Loki felt the anger surge back full force.  

 

“You have nothing for me, then,” he demanded.  ”No answers whatsoever?”

 

Clint shrugged, staring down at his hands as they twined nervously in his lap.  

 

“I have been truthful with you from the very beginning of… _this_ ,” Loki thundered, waving his hands, encompassing the small apartment.  ”Even when it has been painful, or shameful, of gone against my very nature!  And I know what you do; what you _are_ , Clint.  And yet you still play at keeping secrets from me?   _Why_?  What purpose does that serve?”

 

Clint’s head was definitely messing with him; he felt the sting of tears in his eyes as he sat there and let Loki’s voice drill into his ear, calling up an ache that had nothing to do with his injury.

 

He knew it was only a matter of time before this happened.  They were too volatile a mixture, two parts never meant to blend, and when combined, caused only damage.  He didn’t _want_ to keep things from Loki, if it were up to him, he’d tell him everything, but he couldn’t take that chance.

 

A sudden thought, surprisingly clear despite his muddled thoughts, suddenly broke through the pain-haze; was this another one of Fury’s tests?  Did he bring Clint in on this mission to see if he would give Loki any information?  He wouldn’t put it past him, it was exactly something he would do.

 

If that was the case, Clint knew he couldn’t even entertain the thought of telling Loki anything.  Having him snatched away because he’d let something slip, even something as innocuous as someone’s name, wasn’t worth appeasing the god’s ire.

 

Even if it meant the end of what they’d begun, Clint would rather Loki hate him for keeping secrets than spend an eternity in that place.

 

But Loki needed _something_ , some kind of answer for why, now, all of a sudden, Clint was so closed off.

 

“To keep you safe,” Clint finally said, his voice cracking under the onslaught of emotion he was barely able to keep in check.  He clenched his jaw to keep from saying anything more, and kept his eyes downcast.  He knew if he looked up, into those betrayed eyes, he would say more than he should.

 

The way his Hawk’s voice cracked dampened Loki’s rage before the words even had a chance to sink in fully.  The archer was simply the picture of misery, unwilling to even meet the god’s gaze with his own; battered, bloodied and sitting slumped on the couch.  A tightness gripped Loki’s throat then, and he moved across the room to sink to his knees at Clint’s side.

 

“Look at me, please,” Loki murmured softly, all traces of anger gone from his voice.

 

Clint’s eyes slid to the side, meeting the god’s hesitantly.  

 

“I understand your protective nature,” Loki began.  ”After all, I feel the same for you.  But what I do _not_ understand is how anything you tell me could threaten _my_ safety.”

 

Loki held Clint’s gaze, searching the depths of the sniper’s eyes as he stared steadily back at the god, a desperate, pleading cast to his face.  He could see how badly Clint wanted to fill in the missing pieces, how much he wished to set Loki’s mind at ease; but still he held back.

 

“It’s…a long story,” Clint huffed.

 

“And we have nothing but time, my Hawk.  Tell me, please.  Why are you so fearful for my safety?  I have proven my tenacity, and survived all that has been visited upon me.  What has shaken you so?”

 

This would be so much easier if Clint could think clearly.  He wanted nothing more than to simply lay down and sleep until this conversation was over, but that wasn’t an option.

 

Looking into Loki’s eyes proved a mistake, as he knew it would.  In them, he could see how very fiercely the god cared for him, and he knew that, if Clint asked it of him, he would take down S.H.I.E.L.D. and anyone else that came their way.  He didn’t doubt that he would at least try.

 

And that was what scared him the most.  Because Loki cared _too_ much, would risk himself if he thought it would spare Clint, and he couldn’t live with that.

 

“Don’t wanna lose you,” Clint muttered, and reached his hand out to slide through Loki’s hair, fingers cupping the back of his head.  “Can’t.   _Won’t_.”

 

Loki’s brows drew together at such an odd turn in the conversation.  He probably thought it was another symptom of his injury.

 

“‘F I tell you, they’ll take you,” Clint went on, and he couldn’t help the tears he felt gathering in his eyes.

 

Loki raised his hand and slid it over Clint’s, twining his fingers through the archer’s.  The tightness in his throat intensified at the sight of his Hawk’s burgeoning tears, and he brought his free hand up to stroke against Clint’s cheek.

 

“You will _not_ lose me, Clint,” the god whispered.  ”And I will _not_ allow myself to be taken from you.  Who would even threaten such a thing?”

 

Clint shook his head and remained silent, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears, his gaze locked with Loki’s.  The archer’s fingers scratched against the god’s scalp, and he pulled Loki forward, pressing their foreheads together.

 

“Can’t,” Clint mumbled.  ”Can’t lose you.”

 

“You will never,” Loki reassured him.  ”I am a god, and I will stand against any that try to remove me from your side.”

 

That was exactly what Clint was afraid of.  He cursed his inability to explain, both because of his injury and the fact that the god’s safety literally depended on him keeping his mouth shut.  Instead, he swallowed back the hitching breaths that choked him and closed his eyes to the tears he refused to let fall where Loki could see them.

 

“Just don’t ask and it won’t happen,” Clint said, trying to couch his point in the simplest way he could.  “They’ll take you, Loki.  They know how.”

 

He could feel Loki’s confusion rolling off him like heat, and he wanted nothing more than to lay bare everything he’d been holding back, to let him know that it was because he couldn’t stand the thought of being parted from him that kept him silent.  The throbbing in his skull was growing worse, lowering his normally-solid walls until they were teetering on the brink of collapse.  All it would take would be one well-aimed word to crack them through.

 

Loki’s rage was being swallowed by concern for his Hawk.  His labored breathing that hinted at restrained sobs; the tears that made his eyes shine.  Clint _never_ allowed such vulnerabilities to show, and for him to do so now spoke volumes on the depth of his fears.  

 

And the repeated assurances that Loki would be _taken_ if he divulged any information?  Well, that told the god all he needed to know.  Clint would not be cowed by the threat of just any organization.  

 

No.  There was but one that would be able to follow through on such a threat; and only because they had done it before.  

 

The knowledge that S.H.I.E.L.D would _dare_ lever such a threat against his Hawk; dare to cause him such distress galled the god.  But now was not the time to give in to his expansive anger.  Not when the one he so cared for was crumpled in front of him and on the verge of tears.

 

Sliding his arms around Clint, Loki pulled him close and pressed his lips to the archer’s ear.  ”Hush now,” he murmured as his hands stroked down the broad back, feeling the minute tremors running through the other man’s body.  ”If it is so vital that you keep your secrets at this time, then do so.  If it will ensure my safety, and your peace of mind, then still your tongue and I will ask no more.  All I need know right now is that you are safe here, with me.”

 

Clint’s relief was almost enough for him to ignore the indignity of being coddled like a crying child.

 

Almost.

 

He let Loki cradle him close as he slowly calmed himself.  No more questions.  Please, _please_ , no more questions.  It rattled Clint to know just how close he’d come to breaking down completely.  Nothing Loki said or did would make him give up any information, not with so much at stake, but something was about to give.  He was just glad it hadn’t actually come to that, because Clint rarely let himself feel the full extent of his own emotions.  He had the feeling it would be an epic meltdown if it ever did happen.

 

He wasn’t surprised it was yet another thing Loki was able to pull out of him.

 

Clint rested his throbbing forehead against Loki’s shoulder, his uninjured arm clutching at the back of his shirt.  “Sorry, Loki,” he muttered.  “Sorry I can’t tell you.  Would if I could.”

 

His eyelids were slipping shut, and he fought the exhaustion as hard as he could.  He knew he couldn’t fall asleep with a head injury, it was entirely possible he may not wake up, but he couldn’t remember the last time he actually slept.  Loki was warm and his hands were soothing against the sore, bruised muscles of his back, he was wrapped in his scent and all of those things were trying to tell him it was time for sleep.

 

Clint pulled back reluctantly, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand and blinking his focus back.  

 

He _couldn’t_ fall asleep.

 

“I know that you would, Clint,” Loki said, his voice a low, soothing rumble.  ”Forgive me my anger.  I fear that sometimes it gets the better of me, and there are few things that set me at odds more than secrets kept.”

 

“S’kay,” Clint murmured blearily, eyelids fluttering.

 

Loki’s brows drew together as he searched Clint’s face.  The archer looked to be fading fast; exhaustion talking hold, and the god knew how dangerous it could be to give in to sleep when in such a state.  Had he not seen firsthand the results when on the field of battle?  Or when he and Thor were young, before the Thunder God came into his power and could shrug off a blow to the head as if it were nothing?

 

“You mustn’t fall into slumber, my Hawk,” Loki stated emphatically, an edge of worry in his tone.  ”Stay awake with me.”

 

“Trying,” Clint said.  “So god damn tired.”

 

He was trying to think back to the last time he had gotten any real sleep, only to realize it must have been the night before he left on assignment.  The time between then and now was a haze of intelligence-gathering, debriefings, sniping, explosions, and occasional falls from high places.

 

How to stay awake, though?  He’d had concussions before, he’d managed to survive them.  How did he keep awake through those?

 

Well, always before, he’d had Natasha to keep him company.  She was quite skilled at pointing out every stupid thing he’d done leading up to him hitting his head.  She’d even made a tally sheet.  Getting blown from his perch was the leader by far.

 

“This makes twelve,” he muttered aloud, forgetting for a moment who he was actually with.

 

“Twelve what?” Loki asked, confused.

 

Clint blinked up at him, a sheepish look crossing his face.  “Uh… Twelve times I got blown up.”

 

Loki was silent for a few beats before letting out an incredulous, “ _What?_ ”

 

“ _Almost_ blown up!” Clint hastened to amend.  At the look on Loki’s face, he began to panic.  “It wasn’t my fault!”

 

Loki pushed away the black rage that threatened to overwhelm him, taking a deep breath to center his emotions.  It would do no good to allow the blast and blame and poisoned words to reign.  Not now.  Not when Clint was still so weak.

 

A rueful grin rose on the god’s face, and he stroked one hand across Clint’s chest.  ”Twelve is a rather impressive amount.   _I_ , on the other hand, have only been blown up _once_.  And that was at _your_ hands, if you’ll remember.”

 

“Oh.  Yeah,” Clint said hesitantly.  ”Sorry about that, by the way.”

 

With a light chuckle, Loki moved from the floor to sit beside his Hawk.  ”There is no need for apologies.  We were at war, and that is the sort of thing that occurs in battle.  And it _was_ a majestic shot.”  Loki paused before adding in a teasing tone,  ”I certainly did _not_ expect an explosion when I plucked your arrow from flight.  You caught me completely unawares.”

 

“Sorta what I do,” Clint shrugged, allowing a tiny smirk to tug the corner of his mouth.   If there was one thing he never doubted, it was his own skill, but he’d never turn down a compliment.

 

“How ever did you come to be so competent with a bow, Clint?  Tell me of your beginnings.  Perhaps that will help to keep you alert and awake.”

 

The smirk dropped from Clint’s face as if it had never been there at all, and his eyes dropped to his lap.

 

“Beginnings, huh?” he asked.

 

Oh hell, where to start?  The car accident?  The orphanage?  Bouncing around on the road from one town to the next, never sleeping in the same place twice?

 

He guessed it was only fair, Loki was going to find out anyway, right?  Might as well tell him everything now, he had nothing better to do.

 

“My parents died when I was little,” he began.  “My brother and I were sent to live at a state home for kids with no folks.”

 

Loki blinked and said quietly, “You never mentioned you had a brother.”

 

“No, I didn’t,” Clint agreed.  “When we got sick of the orphanage, we ran away.  It was his idea to join the circus.  It’s kind of a bad joke, but it was really the only option we had.  That’s where I learned archery.”

 

Clint’s brow furrowed at the memories rising to the surface.  It wasn’t necessarily that they were bad, but he’d been so naive back then, thinking anyone would do something for him simply as an act of kindness.  There was always a catch, and he’d found out the hard way just how much he’d had to pay.

 

“I caught my mentor stealing money from the carnival,” Clint went on.  “He beat the shit out of me and left me for dead when I told him I wouldn’t help him.  My brother and I had a… disagreement, after that.  Couldn’t stay there anymore.”

 

“Where is your brother now?” Loki asked, his voice subdued.

 

Clint’s eyes flicked toward him.  He knew the topic of brothers was a touchy one for the god, which is why he was being purposely vague on the details.  “Dunno.  Haven’t seen him since.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Clint shrugged, causing a twinge to shoot through his back. “He made his choice.  Maybe it was the right one, who knows?” He was quiet for a few moments.  “I hope so.”

 

Loki huffed out a small sigh and placed his hand low on Clint’s back, rubbing in a small circle as he searched for the right words with which to reply.

 

“You are well aware of my own sibling issues,” he began hesitantly.  ”And that pain is nothing I would wish on any other, lest of all you.  I am truly sorry that you have had such a burden to bear, Clint.”

 

The archer shook his head, his manner subdued as he cycled through memories the conversation had called up.

 

The god let his own thoughts wander for a long moment, remembering the hurt that he felt when separated from Thor.  First by his own twisted perceptions, and then by his fall from the Bifrost.  Even though he could attribute the distance between them to nothing beyond his own actions, that did not make it hurt any less.

 

The silence stretched out, both men lost in their own thoughts before Loki turned back to Clint and said, “Enough of this melancholy reflection.  Tell me something good, my Hawk.  Tell me of something that brings you joy.”

 

Clint wasn’t surprised when Loki decided to change the subject.  He hadn’t spoken of his brother to anyone but Natasha, and he’d almost forgotten what a bitter subject it was, as far down as he’d stamped those memories.

 

But Loki was obviously still too raw about his own issues to want to discuss it, and Clint was more than willing to let the matter drop.

 

“Something good?” he mused aloud.  “Honestly, there isn’t much. ‘Sides you,” he hastened to explain.  “Actually, it’s mostly you.”

 

Although Loki said nothing of it, he could tell his words pleased the god; he could practically hear him preening at the thought of being the focus of Clint’s affections.

 

“Surely there must be something, my Hawk?” he said.  “Even if only a small thing?  I find it hard to believe your existence is as joyless as all that.”

 

Clint thought, quite a bit harder than he felt he should for something as simple as what Loki was asking.  What _did_ he find joy in?

 

“I guess… well, there’s always my shooting,” he finally said.  “It’s not always about killing.  The challenge of hitting my target, I suppose, is what I like about it.”

 

Loki felt a swell of pleasure at Clint’s words.  Some small and secret part of him had hoped that the archer would include him in the list of things that brought him joy.  He had not expected to be given the lion’s share, but the revelation did not fully surprise him either.  Allowing a tiny smile to curve his lips, Loki continued stroking his hand down Clint’s back and waited for him to list something other than the god’s companionship.

 

“I can see why your skill would bring you joy.  The challenge of such a thing, and the knowledge that you are simply the best at what you do?  Of course that would impart nothing but satisfaction.”

 

“I _am_ pretty goddamn good,” Clint agreed.

 

“Ah, and there is that fickle modesty again,” Loki chuckled.  ”You are well aware that there are none above you in this particular skill, my Hawk.  You forget that I have had the honor of seeing you in battle…and you were simply magnificent.”

 

Clint gave a pleased hum at Loki’s praise, leaning into the steady stroke of the god’s hand down his spine.  His head was still pounding, and his eyes felt a little too big for his face, but Loki’s touch was soothing, and damned if story-time hadn’t helped to wake him up.  He no longer had the immediate urge to fall into bed and sleep for the next three days.

 

Loki peered into Clint’s eyes and gave a small nod, content with what he found within.  The archer seemed slightly more focused; his gaze less clouded with confusion.  Getting him to talk seemed to be exactly the thing he needed.

 

“You have told me so much already,” Loki murmured.  ”Some things I already knew, some secrets closely kept, and one or two items half suspected.  Tell me, is there anything you wish to ask me?”

 

That was another one of those questions that had too many answers.  There were so many things he wanted to ask, but he wasn’t sure how Loki would feel about answering them.  He’d always let the god have his privacy, figuring if Loki wanted him to know, he would tell him.

 

Well, that hadn’t exactly worked out the best, because he still knew next to nothing about him, save what he’d learned since he’d come back.  Clint often found himself curious about the person Loki _had_ been, before the events that twisted him into the mad, desperate thing he’d first known.

 

“You remember when you told me there wasn’t much you were good at that you’re proud of?” Clint ventured, turning to watch Loki’s expressions to gauge his reactions.

 

Loki’s face betrayed very little, and his voice was quiet when he spoke.  “I… do recall saying that,” he said hesitantly, the motions of his hand against Clint’s back becoming stiff.

 

“There has to be _something_ you’re proud of,” Clint pressed.  “Something from before.”

 

“My children,” Loki said without hesitation.

 

“Your…you have kids,” Clint asked slowly, suddenly and painfully aware of exactly how little he knew of the god at his side.

 

“I do,” Loki affirmed.  ”Three sons and a daughter, to be precise.  They are my greatest accomplishment.”

 

A long moment of silence stretched out; Clint’s thoughts swirling and Loki waiting for the questions he knew the archer would pose.

 

“I…wow…okay, I was _not_ expecting that,” Clint blurted out, shattering the quiet.

 

“Does it trouble you,” Loki asked softly, his hand on Clint’s back stilling.

 

“No.  I guess I just never thought that you might have kids.  Where are they now?  Do you…ever see them?”

 

“Fenrir and Sleipnir reside in Asgard, and I visit them when I am able.  Jormungand…well, he roams.  It has been many years since I have encountered him.  And Hela, my daughter, presides over Nifilheim.”  Loki paused there, taking a deep breath before he continued, his voice rough.  ”Our relationship is…strained, at best.”

 

“Why?”

 

Loki turned his face away from Clint and sighed.  ”Too much shared history.  Things that are better left forgotten.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Clint whispered.  ”That has to be difficult.”

 

The god’s hand resumed its slow slide over Clint’s back.  ”It is,” he conceded.  ”But it in no way lessens the pride I take in Hela.  She is a fair ruler, and those in her realm revere her.  All of my children are…flawed in some way, but for all the many mistakes I have made in my long life, I am certain of two things.  I was a _very_ good parent, and I raised _exceptionally_ fine children.”

 

There were so many thoughts and emotions swirling through Clint’s slowly-recovering mind, it was hard to make sense of them all.

 

Surprise, obviously.  He would have thought Loki being a dad would have come up in conversation.  Clint wondered why he would keep something as important as that from him.

 

It made Clint feel very small and insignificant.  Somewhere, at some time, Loki had cared about someone else, enough to have children with them.  It was one thing to know just how long Loki had been around, but until this new information came along to put it into context, it was easy enough to ignore.

 

Just how much _did_ Clint mean to Loki, when he couldn’t begin to compete with anyone he’d been with before?  He was a fragile, squishy mortal, and there was never a time before when he felt it so acutely, sitting there with a cracked skull and a scarred body and not very much life left compared to the immortal god sitting beside him.

 

What would Loki do when Clint was gone?  Would he mourn for him, and then move on?  Would he even wait that long, or would he tire of him when he was no longer able to keep up?  What if his next mission went even worse than this one?

 

Clint wasn’t used to insecurity.  It had never been an issue before.

 

Then again, he’d never had quite this much of himself invested, either.

 

Loki was waiting for him to say something, and he knew he’d been quiet too long.  He swallowed the bitter lump in his throat and managed to choke out a few words.

 

“I’m… sure you were a good dad,” he said quietly.  “Better than mine, at least.”

 

Loki gazed intently at Clint as he digested his words.  And as the seconds ticked past, he watched the archer slowly crumble.  Something in the god’s story had affected him deeply, and the pain and doubt in his Hawk’s face cut through Loki.  He cursed himself internally for telling Clint of his children when he was in such a state.  Even in perfect health the story would be hard to accept, and even more so now, when the archer’s head was already muddled.

 

And then Clint spoke; and Loki’s understanding of the situation deepened further.

 

Pulling Clint to him, he snugged his Hawk’s back to his chest and twined his arms around that solid frame.  Nuzzling his face into the archer’s short brown hair, Loki murmured, “Ah, so you had a father like mine, then?”

 

Clint relaxed in Loki’s arms, allowing himself the comfort of simple contact.  After a moment he shook his head, saying, “I think mine might have been a little worse.”

 

Lacing his fingers through the other man’s, Loki sighed and said, “I am sorry for that, my Hawk.  Truly I am.  There is nothing more precious than the love of a child, and those that abuse that deserve a special place in Hel.”  The god pressed a kiss to Clint’s temple and tightened his arms around him, humming lightly.

 

Clint wasn’t sure how to feel about that.  He didn’t remember much of his own father, but what he did recall was enough for him to know that he was probably better off.  He’d gotten good at hiding, mostly up high, when his father went into a drunken rage.  It was safer to stay out of reach and be able to see him coming.  He’d also gotten very good at reading the signs leading up to his frequent tirades, and was usually out of sight by the time he’d come looking for someone to take his anger out on.

 

More often than not, it was his brother.  Or his mother.  There was a deep vein of guilt that Clint carried with him for that, for letting his family suffer while he hid himself away.  He could remember wishing so many times that he was braver, bigger, stronger, that he could do something to stop what was happening.

 

When he’d learned that his parents were dead, the first thing Clint could remember feeling was relief, and that only made the guilt worse.  What kind of child wanted their parents dead?  What kind of person would he grow up to be if he had to hide the smile at the news that his father had wrapped his car around a telephone pole?

 

Despite all of that, though, despite the fear and the hatred, some part of Clint had still loved his father.  He supposed that was when he’d first learned that you could both hate _and_ love someone.  At the funeral, watching the caskets being lowered into the ground, knowing he’d never see his father’s face - or his fist - again, Clint remembered feeling that strange mixture of relief and sadness.

 

It was a very similar feeling to the one he’d felt at seeing Loki being hauled off to Asgard in chains.

 

The thrall was… insidious.  Natasha had been able to knock it out of him, but it was never meant to be broken that way, if at all, and some things still remained.  It was why he’d had such a hard time readjusting to his former self, and why he’d been so conflicted even before he’d met Loki on the sidewalk that day.  There was a part of him hardwired and attuned to the god in a way that a bump on the head just wasn’t going to fix.  There was a strange sense of loyalty still there, and as their relationship grew, Clint was becoming more comfortable accepting it as a part of who he was now.

 

Not to say he was still enthralled to do Loki’s bidding.   _Far_ from it, in fact, but there was no denying there was some connection that still lingered from his time as a thrall.  The only reason he hadn’t fought it was because he was fairly certain Loki had no idea it was even there.  The last thing Clint wanted to do was make Loki think he was with him because of some remnant of his enthrallment.

 

Just as at the funeral of his parents, seeing Loki bound for another realm caused conflicting emotions within him.  At the time, it had been easy enough to ignore the twinge of regret, but the longer it took for Clint’s mind to even out, the more he realized that a clean break was impossible.  There was always that niggling guilt in the back of his mind that refused to abate.

 

Well, it didn’t matter now, because Loki was _here_ , and there was no where else Clint would rather be.

 

“Well, I guess he got what he deserved, then,” Clint finally said, his voice subdued.

 

Holding Clint against him, Loki felt the full measure of his Hawk’s emotion coursing through him.  The pain, disappointment, and twisted love that abuse could bring, all very familiar to the god.  And as he cradled the smaller man within the circle of his embrace, he wished that there was more that he could do to drive the demons of the past from his thoughts.  But all he could offer was what he was already giving.  A safe haven, and a caring that asked for nothing in return.

 

Raising one hand from the archer’s waist, Loki softly stroked through his hair, avoiding the sore spot behind Clint’s ear.  And as he did, he allowed his mind to wander; remembering their time before, and how even through the haze of the Tesseract, and Loki’s own veil of madness,  he had felt an attraction to this man.  

 

He had first attributed it to nothing more than his own needs.  He _needed_ a force to support him.  He _needed_ military minds to organize his actions.  And the pride he felt when his Hawk had delivered that?  Surely it was nothing more than the pride a general felt for his troops.

 

But upon his escape from the Helicarrier, and his subsequent discovery that his Hawk had not made it out?  There had been a sting beyond what was appropriate for the loss of a good soldier.  And when they met in battle, on opposite sides, that sting became a full fledged ache.  

 

It was only during his time in Hel that Loki had had the time to fully examine his feelings, and accept the fact that his attraction to Clint ran far deeper than he had previously thought.  But with that came the knowledge that he would most likely never have that which he so wanted.  So the god had buried those feelings deep, only allowing himself to page through his memories in the few quiet moments he had between his punishments.  And that ache grew.

 

But now, here he was, in the one place he never dared think to find himself.  The recipient of his Hawk’s affections; sharing his bed and, the god hoped, his heart.

 

Fingers still carding through the archer’s hair, Loki murmured, “Yes.  He got _exactly_ what he deserved, I would think.”

 

Clint could feel himself starting to sink down into the place his memories usually resided, and that was dangerous, for many reasons.  He didn’t want to bring Loki down there with him, because he had the feeling Loki’s well of despair was even deeper than Clint’s.  That downward slide would only gain momentum if they were allowed to dwell on it, and so he decided to put the brakes on it now, before it pulled them any deeper.

 

“Can we… not talk about this anymore?” he said quietly.  “Don’t care what else you wanna talk about, just not that.”

 

Loki’s hand running through his hair was distracting him from the painful throbbing in his skull, enough that he could ignore it as long as he didn’t have to think about anything too hard.  Normally, he would just put some inane action movie on the T.V.; those required very little thought, and they were at least entertaining.  This sitting in the quiet was different.  He was learning a lot about the god he’d somehow acquired, and even a little about himself.  Not all good, but knowledge was never wasted, and he doubted Loki would have volunteered most of what he’d told him tonight for any other reason.

 

It was only then Clint realized how comfortable he’d become with Loki’s presence.  In a matter of months, he’d gone from despising him to finding it impossible to be parted from him.  He  _wanted_  to know more about him, good things and bad, and everything in between.

 

“Of course,” Loki soothed.  ”Heavy thoughts are perhaps not what is best for you at this time.”

 

Clint nodded and placed his hand over the arm Loki had slung around his middle.  He lay quietly against the god, feeling the beat of his heart at his back; the slow scratch of nails against his scalp, and a sense of wonder at the calm he felt when he was wrapped in Loki’s embrace.  

 

Not twelve hours ago it had been all explosions, gunfire and shattered glass.  

 

And now?  Dim lighting, warm contact, and silence broken only by muted conversation.

 

 _‘If someone had told me a few months ago that this is where I’d feel the most comfortable, I would’ve punched them square in the mouth,’_  Clint thought absently while running his fingertips over Loki’s forearm.

 

“Is there anything more you would know of me, Clint,” Loki asked softly.  ”Have you any unanswered questions that are plaguing you?”

 

“Loads,” Clint said, “but probably nothing you want to talk about.”

 

Loki hummed, the sounds rumbling through his chest and into Clint’s back.  “Why would you think that?” he asked.  “You may ask me anything you wish.  I have promised not to lie to you, if you’ll remember.”

 

Clint was quiet for several long moments as he pondered how best to pose his questions.  Loki’s mind was still fractured, much like his own, and he’d learned some of the things that could trigger one of his mercurial mood swings.  But not all, and that was what worried Clint the most about asking Loki anything; he was never sure what might set him off.

 

There weren’t many opportunities for them to talk like this very often, though, and Clint didn’t want to waste it.

 

“I guess I don’t know much about you from before,” he said hesitantly.  “I don’t know  _anything_ , really.  Your brother doesn’t say much to me.”

  

“Ah, now  _you_  wish to know of  _my_  beginnings,” Loki replied in a musing tone.  ”There is much to tell, considering the span of my years.”

 

The god fell silent for a long moment, gathering his thoughts.  ”I started as most children do; fat, happy and full of wonder.  My earliest memories are of exploring the gilded palace of Asgard, Thor at my side.  He was my constant companion, and we never failed to find some form of mischief in which to engage.”  Loki broke off, uttering a soft laugh.  “Our nursemaids nearly went mad trying to keep the sons of Odin in line.”  

 

Clint listened quietly, almost afraid to pose any further questions and interrupt the story Loki was weaving.  When he’d asked of tales from  _before_ , he hadn’t expected the god to go quite so far back, but the archer was not about to complain.  Loki seemed far more forthcoming than he ever had before; his walls laid low, and Clint was eager to learn all he could, so he lay still and just listened.

 

“We were indulged; spoiled, really,” the god continued, his voice as far away as his thoughts.  ”But not even indulgence could keep us from our tutors.  It was here that the first differences between my brother and I would surface.  I  _loved_ the lessons.  The smell of the books and the knowledge contained within; the soothing quiet of the library.  But Thor dreaded such things.  He was bored with the slow pace, and would rather be in the training ring, swinging practice swords, and learning combat secrets.  Before long, he spent the majority of his time with the battle-master, and I was ensconced in the library.”

 

Leaning his head against Clint’s, Loki sighed.  ”I was never any good at fighting.  At least not with my  _hands_.  And magic…in Asgard, at least, is viewed as a woman’s craft.  That was the second difference between Thor and I.  And as the years progressed, so did all the ways he and I were dissimilar.  The chasm between us slowly widened, unseen by the other.  When you add in the fact that Odin still trained us both in the ways of leadership; still proclaimed us both to be born to be kings, never-mind the fact that Asgard had but one throne, well…is it any wonder it ended the way it did?”

 

Clint reached one hand up and behind, sliding it around Loki’s nape, and scratching his nails lightly over the god’s skin.  ”What did he  _think_  was going to happen?  He was basically playing you against one another.”

 

“I do not presume to know what Odin’s thoughts were,” Loki said quietly. “But when he named Thor as his successor, my mind had already begun to fracture under the weight of imagined slights, and petty hurts.  And when my true parentage was made known, then all hope was lost.”  

 

Loki took a deep breath before finishing, “But for a time, I was as any other.  Happy, content, and convinced I was loved.  I had those around me that I would call friends, and a family that while not perfect, should have been good enough.  I can see now that my issues were of my own making, and had I made better choices, then perhaps my fall into darkness may not have occurred.”

 

“You can play the ‘what if’ game forever,” Clint said.  ”But it doesn’t do anything other than drive you crazy.”

 

“True,” Loki conceded.  ”Also, had I never fallen, then I would not be here right now.  And I cannot think of anywhere I would rather be.”

 

Clint had thought the very same thing more than once since their strange relationship began.  Their lives leading up to the moment they met, every choice either of them had ever made, had brought them, in the end, to this.  Two people, so very different in so very many ways, drawn to each other.

 

It was almost enough for Clint to start believing in fate.

 

He didn’t miss the way Loki spoke of his brother, almost before he spoke of himself.  It was clear how much he cared for Thor, despite them sharing no blood.  They’d been raised together as brothers, and Clint knew blood wasn’t the only defining factor when it came to family. 

 

He also knew that, from the very beginning, Loki had been doomed to fall.  Clint was no stranger to the manipulations of those in power; he’d seen Fury at work too many times to be that naive, and from what he’d heard of Odin, he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d intended Loki’s rebellion.  Perhaps not to the scale it had reached, but there was no way anyone could convince him that he hadn’t been using Loki as a game-piece, goading him into actions he never would have taken on his own.

 

But despite that, it was also clear that Loki still had some loyalty to this adopted family, no matter how he tried to camouflage it.  He thought himself to blame, the choices he’d made were his responsibility, and Clint had to give him credit for that.  But the fault was not his alone.

 

“If you hadn’t fallen, you’d probably be a lot happier,” Clint said.  “But like I said, it doesn’t do you any good to wonder what would have happened different.  And your dad sounds like a jerk.”

 

And just like that, the god was laughing.  A deep, true laughter than shook the chest Clint reclined against, bringing a smile to the archer’s face.  

 

“So insolent, you are,” Loki chuckled.  ”But I cannot disagree.  Yes, Odin was, in many ways, a ‘jerk’.  But I had nothing to compare him against, so that knowledge was lost on me for many a long year.”

 

“I just call ‘em like I see ‘em,” Clint shrugged, some small, secret part of himself pleased at eliciting such a reaction in the normally stoic god.

 

Loki wrapped his arms around Clint’s middle again, holding him tightly against his chest and pressing a pleased kiss to the archer’s crown.

 

“Yes, I am aware of your blunt nature.  It is just one of the many things I enjoy about you,” Loki purred.  ”Now tell me.  What do you enjoy about  _me_ , Clint?”

 

Clint’s mind instantly supplied a surfeit of things he enjoyed about Loki, most of which he would have a horrible time putting into words, especially in the state he was in.  Better to keep it simple, maybe, and leave the more abstract things for later, when he was able to think more clearly and Loki wouldn’t brush them off as addle-brained ramblings.

 

“You smell good,” he said simply.  A beat of silence was met by an amused chuckle.  “No, really.  I don’t like the way most people smell.  It’s a weird thing with me.  ‘Tasha says it’s weird, anyway.  But you do.”

 

“Well, thank you, I suppose.  I am glad you do not find me offensive in that way,” Loki said indulgently.

 

“Nope,” Clint agreed.  “I like these, too,” he said, lifting one of Loki’s hands in his own, testing the flex and bend of his fingers one by one.  “No one’s ever touched me like you do.”

 

Loki was silent for several long moments, until finally stilling Clint’s fingers by closing his own over them.  Clint threaded his fingers through Loki’s and squeezed, letting their twined hands fall to his lap, and laid his head back against Loki’s shoulder, the very picture of contentment.

 

Loki gently squeezed Clint’s hand, feeling the warmth emanating from their twined fingers, the press of the archer’s grip against his own.  He nuzzled the side of Clint’s head and murmured into his ear, “I have never  _wanted_  to touch anyone the way I touch you.  In all my long years, none have ever moved me to such actions; made me so eager to please.”

 

“Flattery,” Clint snorted.  ”Told you that doesn’t work on me.”

 

“Truth,” Loki retorted.  ”You need no flattery as you earn every bit of praise I visit upon you.”

 

Clint allowed himself a small, pleased grin and rubbed his thumb over Loki’s, stroking lightly.

 

“It pleases me to know these things,” Loki said quietly.  ”No matter how small they may seem, they mean a great deal to me.  For too long my faults were all that were shown me.  Having someone list my strengths is still… foreign to me.”

 

It was hard for Clint to believe that no one had ever bothered to praise Loki for anything he’d ever done, but if that was true, it was no wonder he hung on every little thing Clint liked about him.  He wouldn’t have known from the way he acted, but the more Clint learned about Loki, the more he realized that he was driven by a desperate need to define his own existence, to give it a greater purpose than what others had deemed worthless.

 

Clint could only imagine what it was like to grow up already doomed to fail, and always, in the back of his mind,  _knowing_  it was going to happen.  To try, and fail, over and over, to be good enough, to be equal to a standard he could never hope to measure up to.  To not be  _allowed_  the chance to prove that he could be a good person, if only they would accept that his faults were merely differences, and that they were no more good or evil than his brother’s.

 

There would always be that part of Loki that held himself as somehow lacking when held up to the shining example of his brother.  He would never be able to forget how Thor’s redemption had come about; how  _he_  was the catalyst that had proven his brother’s worthiness to rule and forever cemented himself as the villain.

 

Clint knew better.  He knew there was just as much capacity for kindness in his fallen god as there was in anyone else.  He was damaged, was all, and Clint wasn’t going to give up on him just because there were a few cracks.  He knew better than most, just because a thing was broken didn’t mean you had to throw it away.  You just patched it up and made the most of the parts that  _did_  work.

 

He knew all of this, but his thoughts were still quite muddled.  He wanted to tell Loki to forget anything anyone had ever told him was wrong with him, but that was like someone telling him to forget he’d fallen off a building.  Loki’s wounds were internal, invisible, caused by an intangible weapon, but they were just as real as Clint’s, and far more scarring.

 

“No one better talk shit about you where I can hear it,” he finally said. 

 

“My protector,” Loki murmured in a pleased tone.  ”And how strange that is to say.  Even with my magic; my immortality; my strength…I somehow feel more secure with you at my side.”

 

“Damn right,” Clint said.  ”You sort of need a bodyguard, and I’m good at that.”

 

“Oh yes,” Loki agreed.  ”That is just one of your many skills.  But I fear that the one I need guarding from most often is myself.”

 

“That’s a little trickier,” the archer replied slowly, lifting their twined hands and examining how they fit together.  Loki’s long, slender fingers framed by Clint’s thicker digits; the pale skin of the god against his own sun-bronzed flesh.  Polar opposites, and yet, they meshed together so perfectly as to leave no space between the two.  ”I try, though,” Clint sighed.  ”Really hard.”

 

“I know that you do,” Loki soothed.  ”And you are far more successful in shielding me from such negativity than I have been.  When the darkness in my head threatens, I too frequently give in, allowing that small, destructive voice to convince me anew of my failings.  You do not allow such things.  You bring me out of that.”

 

“You’ve suffered enough,” Clint said quietly.  ” _More_  than enough.  Can’t let you keep beating yourself up.”

 

Loki was silent for several long moments before he slid his hand from Clint’s waist to rest over his heart.  ”Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick.  ”Thank you so  _very_ much.”

 

Clint’s heart gave a panicked thump at the sound of tears in Loki’s voice,  He turned in Loki’s embrace, as quickly as his stiff body and throbbing head would allow, and looked up into his face.  Loki merely gave him a small, soft smile, his eyes bright, but not leaking, and ran his hand through his hair once again.

 

“Such concern, my Hawk,” he murmured.  “Even now, you seek to protect me.  Perhaps you are just the one to bear the burden of my love, after all.”

 

Clint’s brow furrowed and he swallowed against the lump in his throat at the dreaded L-word, but he couldn’t deny that Loki was right.  He would never trust anyone else with keeping the god safe, from himself above all other threats.  No one else could possibly understand the depths of Loki’s need to feel cared for.  No one else would have the patience or the insight to see past the stoic, unaffected facade he so often wore as armor over the still-tender wounds of his past.

 

Maybe it  _was_  always meant to be Clint, and he had no doubt that it would be almost impossible sometimes, but he would never consider Loki’s love a burden.  The times it seemed like it was, Clint would just remember what could have been, all the different ways it could all have gone wrong, and his spine would straighten and he would do his best to pull Loki up with him.  Until he could stand up on his own, Clint would be there to haul him to his feet.  Every damn time.

 

“Your brain is kind of a jerk, too,” Clint said.  “You sure it’s not related to your dad in any way?”

 

“Only in the most basic of ways,” Loki snorted.  ”The All Father helped to shape me, so it stands to reason that my mind would be attuned to such nonsense.  Believe me when I say I wish it were not so.  Things were so much…simpler before that particular seed of darkness bloomed within me.”

 

Clint was silent, twisted in Loki’s arms and looking up at the god, meeting his gaze steadily.  That slight smile still played upon Loki’s face as his fingers carded slowly through the archer’s hair.  He could feel Clint’s heart hammering, see the trembling set of his jaw, and the god suspected that his words had affected his Hawk.  

 

He knew that Clint shied from talk of love, choosing to show his affections through his actions rather than words.  And while Loki wished to cause his Hawk no discomfort, he yearned to know what the other man’s feelings were on the matter.

 

“Does the thought of my love frighten you,” he asked quietly.  ”It is not something I give lightly.  I know what it means to be loved by one such as me, and it is not an easy thing to bear.”  

 

Loki’s eyes searched Clint’s, seeking an answer.  And as the archer pondered the proper way to put his thoughts into words, the god bent his head and brushed his lips against Clint’s own.

 

At Loki’s question, everything within Clint’s mind slammed to a halt.  He felt the press of the god’s lips against his, and he responded purely out of reflex.  He could feel the hesitation thrumming through the body below him; Loki was shaking like a leaf, and Clint knew him well enough by now to know that he was trying to hide how terrified he was.

 

“I don’t-… I’m not  _scared_ ,” Clint said when Loki pulled away from the brief kiss.

 

Oh, that was  _such_  a lie, and they both knew it, because, as much as Clint could feel Loki trembling, he was sure Loki could feel the same of him.

 

“Please, Clint,” Loki said, spearing him with a pointed look.  “Do not attempt to posture with me.  Answer, or don’t, but do not  _lie_.  I would rather you reject me outright than pretend at something to spare my feelings.”

 

Clint pushed himself upright, bracing himself above Loki with his arms to either side of him, and met his glare with one of his own.  “I’m  _not_  doing either of those things,” he said vehemently.  “I’m not  _scared_ , okay?  I just…”

 

Loki was silent, waiting for whatever answer Clint would give.

 

“Okay, maybe I am,” Clint finally conceded, and looked away, sitting back on his knees.  He looked down at himself, at the scars and bruises and cuts and scrapes, at the reminders of how tenuous his hold on his own life really was.  “I’m a mess,” he muttered.  “Why you want to tie yourself to someone like me?  It’s not the first time I’ve cracked my head open, and it sure as hell won’t be the last.  But one of these days, it  _will_  be.  Then what?”

 

And in an instant, those green eyes that had been shining so brightly grew shadowed and dark.  Loki swallowed, fighting past the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat, and he dropped his gaze to his hands.

 

“Don’t,” he pleaded.  ”I know that someday I will…lose you.  But I cannot bear the constant reminder.  We are together  _now_ , and that is what matters to me.”

 

“It’s not like it’s going to go away if you just  _ignore_  it, Loki,” Clint said flatly.  ”I’m _going_  to die someday.”

 

The god’s vision wavered as the tears that had been threatening suddenly spilled over, tracking down his cheeks.  He took a deep, shuddering breath, his thoughts in disarray, and an ache growing in his chest as the silence stretched out between them.

 

“Really,” Clint pressed.  ”Why me?  My life is…nothing compared to yours.  What are you going to do when I’m gone?”

 

“I don’t  _know_ ,” Loki screamed, hands flying up to fist in his hair, head bowed.  ”I suppose I will go on, and I will mourn you for the rest of my days!  What more can I do?  It is too late to distance myself; to protect myself from such pain.  You already hold my heart.”

 

Loki’s shoulders shook as he fought to regain control.  ”I would offer you immortality,” he sobbed.  ”If only to keep you by my side.  But I know you, and you will refuse it.  The truth of the matter is this; I will lose you no matter  _what_  I do.  Whether I rescind my love and walk away now, or stay with you until the end of your days, _I will lose you_.  What would you have me do, Clint?!”

 

Lifting his gaze, Loki fixed the archer with a pleading look.  ”I-I just wish to love you, for as long, and as well as I am able.  Will you allow me at least that?”

 

There were few things Clint hated more than the sight of Loki’s tears, and more especially, tears he himself had caused.  He watched helplessly as Loki crumbled in front of him, for perhaps the first time showing the full extent of his feelings.

 

So now it was out in the open.  Loki loved him,  _had_  loved him, was begging Clint to  _allow_  him to love him.

 

The sight of the broken god’s pleading, tear-stained face called up an ache in Clint’s chest.  He knew that feeling.  It was what he’d been afraid of from the very beginning, and now there was no denying it.

 

Reaching out, Clint slid his hand around the nape of Loki’s neck and pulled him close, resting their foreheads together.

 

“You’re right,” he said, his voice rough with suppressed emotion.  “It  _is_  too late.”

 

He felt Loki’s arms come up to wrap around him, mindful even in his frantic state to be careful of the bruises and cuts littering his back.  He allowed the god to pull him close, burying his face against Clint’s shoulder,  Clint ignored the wetness of the tears against his skin as his fingers carded through Loki’s hair.

 

“I am scared,” he admitted quietly, looking down at the bowed head.  “But that doesn’t mean I don’t still want this.  Want  _you_.  I just need to know that it’s enough for you.  I won’t be around forever, Loki.”

 

The god’s arms tightened around him then at the reminder of Clint’s inevitable mortality, and an unhappy whimper was muffled against the side of his throat.

 

“I know you don’t want to hear that,” Clint conceded.  “It not easy for me to say, believe me.  But we can’t change it, people like me… we’re born to die.”

 

“Please don’t,” Loki sobbed against him.  He clutched his archer to him even tighter, and if his hold hurt Clint, he showed no sign.  “I know all this, it does not bear repeating.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Clint whispered.  “This isn’t how I planned any of this to go.  I don’t think I  _planned_  anything, I just… wanted to come home.”

 

Clint could finally admit, at least to himself, that he meant far more with that word that just the walls that surrounded them.

 

Loki sagged in Clint’s embrace, the feel of his Hawk’s arms around him serving to quell his panic the slightest bit.  The tremors that shook his body slowly quieted, and still Loki clung to the smaller man, face hidden in his shoulder.  The god’s sobs abated, and when he finally spoke again, it was in a small voice.

 

“Simply having you accept me as a friend was enough, Clint.  But what we share now?  That is  _more_  than I ever dared hope to have.   _You_  are more than enough.”

 

Clint stroked Loki’s hair softly, his other hand splayed low on the god’s back as he murmured, “Good.  I…just want to you be happy, Loki.”

 

Loki uttered a shuddering sigh before turning his head and pressing a kiss to his archer’s throat.  ”I have never been happier.  In the here and now; in our…home?  I have everything I have always longed for…”

 

There was a moment of silence, broken only by Loki’s hitching breaths washing over the skin of Clint’s throat.  The god nuzzled against him, then, before continuing.

 

“I-I missed you, my Hawk.  All I could think was how I wished for you to come home to me.  To be at my side once more.  And to shower you in my love when you had returned.”  Another pause, this one more drawn out as Loki considered his words.  ”Forgive me my anger of earlier.  That was not how I wanted to welcome you back.”

 

Clint huffed out an unamused breath.  “Yeah, I wasn’t planning on getting blown up, either.”  He tilted Loki’s head up to meet his eyes, his brow furrowing at the sadness still lingering there.  “Missed you, too,” he said, and ducked down to give Loki a proper kiss.

 

The arms wrapped around him tightened and Loki opened up to him with no hesitation.  His breathing was still hitching from his earlier sobs, but they both ignored it as the kiss deepened.  Loki pulled Clint down on top of him, humming contentedly against his mouth at the feel of his solid weight pinning him to the cushions.

 

Clint was pissed at himself, now, for getting blown up, because he knew he couldn’t go any farther than this without provoking his injuries.  He wanted nothing more than to screw Loki through the couch and into the floor, they’d been nearly two weeks apart and now that he had the god beneath him, he was starting to wonder if it might not be worth it after all…

 

And then Loki’s fingers slid into his hair and fisted harshly.  Clint pulled back and hissed at the flare of pain in his skull, and Loki immediately dropped his hands.

 

“I’m sorry!” he said, his voice panicked.  “I wasn’t thinking, forgive me!”

 

Those hands were back, carding gently through his hair to soothe the ache.  Even through the pain, Clint couldn’t help but give a slight chuckle and reach for one forearm, pulling the god’s hand away before he could do any more damage.

 

“It’s fine,” Clint assured him.  “Probably a good thing, I shouldn’t be doing this anyway.”

 

He watched the panic in Loki’s eyes morph into bitter disappointment before he gave a nod.  “Yes, you are right, this is… not good for your injuries,” he conceded, moving to lift himself from the couch.

 

Clint didn’t budge, holding Loki down with both his body and his unwavering stare.

 

“Stay put,” he ordered, his voice giving no room for argument.  Loki immediately stilled.  “I said  _I_  shouldn’t be doing this.  Didn’t say a damn thing about  _you_.”

 

And then his hand was moving between them, over his hip and farther down, to squeeze the hardening flesh between Loki’s legs.

 

The god loosed a high pitched cry and arched up into Clint’s touch.  He had _missed_  his Hawk’s hands upon him; missed the way those strong fingers pressed and stroked, bringing such pleasure with each and every motion.  The way that Clint plied his body; pushing him to his limits, and beyond, was like nothing that Loki had ever before experienced.  And he found himself craving the archer’s touch; almost greedily.

 

Clint’s hand teased over Loki’s arousal, tracing the hard line of his cock constrained beneath the material of his pants.  The needy little whimpers spilling from the god’s slack mouth were almost enough to set Clint’s head spinning, and he squeezed again, pleased to find that Loki was already fully hard.

 

“Oh, you’re eager,” he murmured, holding Loki’s gaze.

 

“You have no idea,” Loki gasped, writhing under Clint’s attentions.  ”I have been too long without you, and dreaming of this moment.”

 

“Not gonna lie.  I spent a lot of time thinking of this, too,” Clint admitted.  ”Probably more than I should’ve while on a mission.  But can you blame me?”

 

Loki gave a pleased hum, his hands moving to unfasten the button on his pants before tugging the zipper down.  He circled long fingers around Clint’s wrist and guided his archer’s hand exactly where he wanted it, bucking his hips up as the smaller man gripped him tightly.  

 

Hissing out a breath between clenched teeth, Loki’s eyes bored into Clint’s as his Hawk began to stroke roughly, dragging his hand from base to tip and back down again.  

 

“No,” Loki moaned as he fucked himself into the tight tunnel of the archer’s fist.  ”I cannot say that I blame you at all.”

 

It was easy for Clint to ignore the throbbing ache in his skull in favor of the throbbing flesh in his hand, watching Loki come apart bit by bit.  Each motion, each slow drag and pull brought a hitching breath, a buck of hips.

 

Yes, Clint had missed this as well, and there was no denying that he was disappointed that he couldn’t do more, but he was content knowing he could at least do this for Loki.  He well knew the god’s needs, he’d been sating them practically every day since that first time, and it grew apparent quite early on that Loki’s drive was…  _higher_  than most.

 

Well, at least in that they were a good match.  Clint was never one to refuse, and it wasn’t like it was a  _chore_.

 

Even now, when it was just his hand, Clint could feel how close Loki was to the brink.  His body was thrumming, and his cries only grew more desperate as Clint stroked him closer.

 

There was an answering need of Clint’s own that was demanding attention, but he ignored it; there wasn’t much he could do about that, and besides, this was about Loki, not him.  There was a desperation in the way the god clung to him that spoke of more than simple lust, and the way his eyes bored into Clint’s own left no doubt in his mind. 

 

But damn it, those  _moans_ … They were getting to Clint, and the throbbing in his head might have abated for the time being, but that was only because it was now located much further south.

 

With a moan of his own, Clint darted forward and sealed his mouth over Loki’s, swallowing his cries before they could be voiced.

 

Loki trembled and shook, his body  _singing_  at the skilled motions of Clint’s hand.  The way the archer touched him never failed to incite the god’s lust, and Loki did not suffer such in silence.  Even through the blistering kiss, he cried out.  Even as Clint’s tongue slipped between his lips, tasting deeply, sliding over Loki’s own, the god moaned and gasped.

 

He kept his hands at Clint’s waist, mindful of the archer’s injuries.  But he ached to bury his fingers in his Hawk’s hair, to guide that hot, wet mouth lower and to feel the tight press of Clint’s throat surrounding him.  But no.  That would have to come later, when his archer had recovered.  For now, the god would have to be content with just Clint’s touch.

 

That strong, rough hand tightened further, gripping him almost painfully as he moved faster.  His thumb swiped across the head on the upstroke and Loki loosed a wail, nipping at the smaller man’s lower lip.  

 

“Missed this,” Clint murmured against Loki’s mouth.  ”Hearing you break apart.  Having you  _moan_  for me.”

 

Loki’s lust hazed eyes flashed up at Clint’s and he voiced a low, wanton moan, hips stuttering, seeking more friction.  ”You have me  _so_  close already,” he gasped.  ”Bringing me to ruin with nothing more than your touch.”  A shuddering cry fell from suddenly slack lips as Clint twisted his grip, grinning down at the needy god.

 

“I-I cannot wait to do the same to you,” Loki stammered.  ”I ache to use my mouth upon you, my Hawk.”

 

Clint couldn’t help the hard buck against Loki’s hip at those words, and his mind immediately supplied the images to go along with them.  Of that dark head between his legs, lips wrapped around him, and those eyes staring up him as he took him deep into his throat.  Clint cursed to himself; head injury or not, he _wanted_  that.  Nearly two weeks without so much as the sound of Loki’s voice was too much, and he hadn’t even been able to take care of himself, as busy as he’d been.  He hardly had time to  _think,_  let alone act on those thoughts.  And the one time he’d let himself get distracted by them… well, he’d gotten blown up.

 

Not that Loki needed to know that, though.  Even if he’d been able to tell Loki anything of his mission, that was something he would have omitted anyway.

 

Momentary lapses of concentration aside, Clint’s mission had been all business, and he was painfully aware of just how long it had been.  Loki’s offer was more than tempting.  Clint’s brain was sifting through everything he’d learned about concussions since he’d been collecting them.  He was a god damn scholar on them by now.

 

Loki was going to make his decision very easy.  He took Clint’s free hand and brought his fingers to his mouth, sliding his tongue out and laving them from base to tip before sucking them into his mouth.  He held Clint’s heated gaze the whole time, and gave a purring moan around his fingers when he was rewarded with a twisting stroke to his hard length.

 

“Damn it, that mouth is gonna get me in trouble,” Clint groaned, pressing his fingers against Loki’s tongue. 

 

Loki merely grinned around his fingers and thrust his hips into Clint’s grasp.

 

Clint growled deep in his throat, both at the feel of Loki’s tongue stroking against his fingers, and the twitch of heated flesh in his firm grip.  His own arousal was quickly growing, nearly uncomfortable in its insistence.  The wet heat of the god’s mouth was reminding him exactly how talented Loki was with his lips, teeth and tongue; and also of how much Clint  _wanted_  that mouth on him.

 

Overpowering all of that was the thought that maybe…just maybe, if he lay back and allowed Loki to do what he most wanted, then it wouldn’t aggravate his injuries  _too_  much.  That if he stayed passive, and didn’t overexert himself, then he would be able to have that mouth.

 

The moans spilling out from around his fingers were becoming more frantic; spiraling up into near keening cries as the god’s body thrashed beneath him.  Clint focused his thoughts, setting aside his own need for the moment in favor of bringing Loki to completion.  

 

“You gonna come for me,” Clint asked in a guttural tone, his voice rough with lust.  ”Wanna hear you  _scream_ , Loki.”

 

The god nodded and rolled his hips, eyes locked on his Hawk’s as he increased the suction on the other man’s fingers.  The tip of Loki’s tongue stroked against the underside of Clint’s digits, and the pleading look in that green gaze was nearly enough to make the archer give in to his desire to just fuck the god straight through the couch, injuries be damned.

 

“C’mon, Princess,” Clint coaxed.  ”Don’t hold back.  Show me how much you missed me.”

 

Loki’s body surged up into Clint’s grasp at the urging of his Hawk.  He stared down at the broken creature writhing beneath him and felt the first stirring of that inner beast within, purring at the sight of him breaking apart so completely.

 

Growling, Clint pulled his fingers free of the grasping suction of Loki’s mouth and used his free hand to brace himself above him.  He wanted to hear those cries unimpeded, he wanted to watch Loki come apart.  His hand sped its rhythm, wringing hitching gasps and stuttering moans from god’s mouth, growing in volume as he drew nearer to his peak.

 

He was close, Clint could feel it in the tense line of his body, the sharp thrusts of his hips.  He could see it in the glassy haze coming over those green eyes and hear it in the way his throat choked on his needy moans.

 

And then he went totally still, eyes boring into Clint’s as the tremors began low in his belly.  The hands at Clint’s hips became claws, digging into his skin almost hard enough to draw blood, and his head tipped back, mouth open in a silent gasp.  Clint could feel him throbbing in his hand, and he gave one last harsh squeeze before dragging him over the edge.

 

The scream Loki loosed towards the ceiling nearly caused his headache to return, but Clint had stopped caring about that.  It was worth it to see the god shatter under his hands, to hear and feel him come apart so completely that all thought ceased and he was reduced to simply feeling.

 

It was almost enough to make Clint spill inside his pants.  Watching Loki writhing below him, the feel of him pulsing in his hand as he covered them both with his pent-up lust, brought Clint’s own need back to the forefront of his mind.  Even as Loki shuddered and panted through his release, Clint was already thinking of how he could get away with having that gasping mouth on him.

 

Loki came down from his high slowly, blinking awareness back as he looked down into Clint’s desperate, needy gaze.  He lifted one hand and palmed the side of Clint’s face, giving him a tiny, grateful smile.

 

“Thank you, my Hawk,” he said, his breathing still labored.  “You’ve no idea how long I’ve needed that.”

 

“I can guess,” Clint returned, pushing his hips against Loki, reminding him of his own need.

 

Loki’s smile grew more mischievous at the obvious hint.

 

“Is that an invitation, then,” the god purred, his hands slipping from Clint’s hips to work open the fastenings of the archer’s pants, too eager to even wait for a proper answer.  Loki’s tongue slicked across his lower lip as he slid the material down just enough to free his Hawk’s insistent cock, a quiet groan of relief falling from Clint’s lips.

 

Pushing himself upright, the god maneuvered the smaller man; slowly, carefully, until he was sprawled back across the cushions, his head resting on the arm of the couch, left foot on the floor.  Loki slipped to his knees, kneeling before his archer as he murmured, “How I have yearned for this.  Relax, my Hawk, and let me bring you pleasure.”

 

Clint’s hips twitched at the low, smoky tone of the god’s words, his thighs tensing in anticipation at the heated gaze that met his own.  ”Just…take it slow, okay?  Don’t want my head to explode.”

 

Loki chuckled wryly, and whispered, “As you wish.”  And then he dipped his head and licked a long, slow stripe of heat up the underside of Clint’s straining arousal.

 

Clint gritted his teeth, caging back a needy sob at the feel of Loki’s tongue upon his flesh.  Two weeks he’d been dreaming of this.  Two long weeks without the attentions of his god had left him far more frustrated than he’d anticipated.  Clint had known that they were spoiling one another; reveling in the physical aspect of their relationship, with no want left untended for any length of time.  But he had drastically underestimated how that would affect him when they were parted.

 

And then Loki pressed forward, taking Clint’s length fully down his throat, and all thought fled the archer’s head.

 

 _So much for taking it slow_ , Clint thought before he was overwhelmed by the feeling of wet heat surrounding him.  His hips wanted to buck, he wanted to fist his hands in long black hair and thrust until he was spent, but even despite his urgency, he knew he had to take it easy.

 

Instead, Clint lifted his arms above his head and gripped the arm of the couch.  His chest heaved with his panting breaths as he tried to hold himself as still as possible, eyes riveted to the sights of his cock disappearing between Loki’s lips.  Those green eyes flashed up at him, narrowing slightly, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to his Hawk’s self-control.

 

The heat was already pooling low in his belly, tingling at the base of his spine, rising up to choke him as he felt the wet slide of Loki’s tongue against the underside of his cock.  A low, whimpering moan escaped him and his hips thrust up of their own accord, far beyond his control.  Clint squeezed his eyes shut to the sight of Loki between his legs, turning to sink his teeth into the flesh of his own arm to muffle his needy cries.

 

It really had been too long, he was a little embarrassed at how quickly he was brought to this point.  He was a breath away from coming, and Loki hadn’t even started yet.

 

The god’s hands held Clint’s hips still as he worked him over with his mouth.  He could feel the trembling of his Hawk’s body beneath his fingers and knew he must be getting close.  Trying to hold back the inevitable was a wasted effort, and Loki was determined to show him just how useless an endeavor it was.

 

Pulling back, Loki swirled his tongue around the head of Clint’s cock, then licked away the bead of pre-come glistening at the very tip, murmuring, “I’ve missed the taste of you, my Hawk,” before taking him deep.

 

Clint voiced a helpless groan as Loki’s grasping heat surrounded him once more, fanning the flames of the archer’s lust even higher.  His heart stuttered in his chest and his eyes cracked open, unable to resist the sight of Loki devouring him hungrily.  

 

When that steel blue gaze fell upon him, Loki uttered a pleased hum low in his throat.  The vibrations assailed Clint, leaving him skating along the very edge while his body thrummed with need.  The god’s hands at his hips were steady, pressing him down into the cushions, stilling his movements as Loki took him deeper.  And when he’d gone as far as he could, Loki hollowed his cheeks and began to swallow around his Hawk’s cock.

 

Clint gasped at the rhythmic clench of Loki’s muscles around his sensitive flesh, and the tremors that ran through his body grew more violent by the moment.  He knew that this was a losing battle he was fighting; that Loki was bound and determined to be his undoing.  And while the archer hated to surrender so quickly, he was content in the knowledge that as soon as he was able, they would indulge in one another again.  And again.  And again.

 

 

Relinquishing his grip on the arm of the couch, Clint dropped one hand to twine through Loki’s fall of dark hair.  He gripped lightly, held rather than guided, and panted out, “Gonna…-fuck, Loki-…I’m so  _close_.” 

 

That hum came again, the unspoken prompt urging Clint to let go, and Loki held him deep, continuing to swallow as his tongue slid lewdly against the underside of the archer’s cock.

 

That wet motion proved to be final push Clint needed, and with a strangled cry he was coming.  His hips arched up as far as Loki’s firm grip would allow, eyes locked on the god’s burning gaze.  And as the tension unspooled in his belly, Clint felt every drop of lust and frustration the previous two weeks had contained drain away, swallowed down by his god.

 

Clint tried to draw his release out for as long as possible; he never wanted it to end, it had been entirely too long and this interlude entirely too brief for his liking.  But eventually, his body began to calm, his heart slowed its frantic rhythm, and he came to rest against the cushions in a sated heap.

 

He looked down at the dark head still between his legs, meeting the oddly bright green of Loki’s gaze as he lapped lazily along his flagging length.  Clint’s fingers slid through inky black hair, following the curve of his skull.  The god looked all too pleased with himself, and as Clint;s breathing evened out, he couldn’t deny that he’d earned that smug satisfaction.

 

The throbbing ache in his skull had somewhat dulled, enough that he could now think a little more clearly, for which he was profoundly grateful; he didn’t want to have to go to the trouble of going back to the hospital, and if he’d somehow made things worse, he didn’t want to have to explain to a doctor exactly what he’d been up to.

 

“No explosions then, my Hawk?” Loki inquired, hiding his smile against Clint’s thigh.

 

Clint loosed a chuckle and lay his forearm across his eyes.  “Only the good kind,” he said, his fingers gently scratching against the god’s scalp.

 

Loki gave a pleased hum and rose from his spot on the floor, moving up Clint’s body to brace himself above his archer.  Clint lifted his arm to peer up at him.  Their eyes met for a long moment before Loki bent down to take his Hawk’s mouth in a deep, possessive kiss.  Clint opened up to him, tasting a hint of himself on Loki’s tongue, and used his hold in his hair to pull him tighter against him.

 

And then, as if on cue, Clint’s phone began buzzing.

 

With a growl, Clint pulled away and shot a glare at the table, where his phone was dancing up a storm.  Loki merely huffed a sigh and let his head fall to Clint’s shoulder before rising from his crouch to sit between Clint’s still-spread legs.

 

“God damn it,” Clint muttered as he reached for the phone.  He wasn’t surprised when he saw who the call was from.  Thumbing the talk button, he let out an impatient, “Barton.”

 

“ _Agent Barton, where the_ ** _hell_** _are_  you?” Fury barked.

 

“Uh… on the couch,” Clint said, meeting Loki’s eye and shrugging when the god lifted a questioning eyebrow.

 

“ _Of all the times for you to pull your disappearing act, you choose to run off with a concussion.”_

“Possible concussion,” Clint corrected him.  When Loki rolled his eyes and made to stand from the couch, Clint lifted his foot from the floor and laid his leg across his lap, pinning him in place.

 

“ _So you chose to ignore protocol and leave the infirmary against orders so you could cuddle on the couch,_ ” Fury said dryly.  “ _Damn it, Barton, I thought we were past this insubordinate streak of yours._ ”

 

“Yeah, that’s never gonna happen.  Why would you think that?”  He had to bite back a snicker when Loki shot him a glare, pointed at the phone, and made one of the gestures he’d picked up since taking residence with Clint.  “By the way, Loki says hi.  Wanna talk to him?”

 

“ _ **Hell**_ _no, I don’t want to talk to him, what I_ ** _want_** _is my agents to obey orders and not wander around with operational knowledge and suffering a head injury._ ”

 

“I didn’t know you cared, sir.”

 

“ _Stow it, Agent. I expect you in my office bright and early tomorrow morning for a debriefing._ ”

 

Loki was getting impatient, and Clint decided needling his boss just to get a rise out of him wasn’t worth it.  “Yes, sir.  Anything else?”

 

“ _I’ll let you know if anything else comes up.  Tomorrow, Barton.  Don’t make me have to track your ass down._ ”

 

“Right. Tomorrow.  Bright and early, got it.”

 

Loki wasted no time tackling Clint (gently) to the couch cushions after his call was finished, reclaiming that insolent mouth for his own.  Clint gave a grunt of surprise at the vehemence of the kiss, but wasn’t complaining as he was carefully ravaged.  He could tell Loki was holding back to keep from provoking his injuries, and it was that knowledge more than the possessiveness that brought a pleased hum from him.

 

Pulling away, Loki gazed down into the somewhat confused, but no less content, face of his Hawk.  “I do so love to hear you give your commander no end of grief,” he said, his voice a low purr in Clint’s ear.

 

“Heh, really?  I’ll make sure to do it more often.”

 

“Wonderful,” Loki murmured.  ”You bring me such pleasure, Clint…in so many ways.  From your insolent nature to your skilled touch, and all that falls between the two.”  The god nipped at his Hawk’s throat, and then continued.  ”I am proud to be called yours.”

 

Clint was silent for a long moment, his hands stroking lightly down Loki’s back as he steadily met the archer’s gaze.  And then he was pulling the god down atop him, arms wrapped tight around his middle, that soft, dark head tucked up under his chin.  ”I’m just as much yours as you are mine, you know,” he said quietly.

 

“I know,” Loki replied.  ”And I couldn’t be more overjoyed.”

 

“Good,” Clint said and pressed a kiss to Loki’s crown.

 

The god sighed; a thoroughly contented sound, and he sealed one ear to Clint’s chest, listening to the thunder of the mortal’s heart.  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as Loki whispered, “I am so glad to have you back where you belong.  Welcome home, my Hawk.”

 

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” Clint answered truthfully, his eyes beginning to drift shut, lulled by the warm weight of the god pressed against his body.  

 

“I believe you proved that when you chose to return home rather than remain under medical care,” Loki chuckled.

 

“Never said I was smart,” Clint returned, a touch of amusement in his voice.  ”Just…lucky.”

 

“Perhaps next time you are away, you could restrain yourself from testing that luck?  Then I could give you a  _proper_  welcoming upon your return.”

 

“Noted,” Clint murmured, edging closer to sleep.  ”No more getting blown up.”

 

“I would appreciate that,” Loki yawned before drifting into the first untroubled slumber he’d had since Clint’s departure.

 


End file.
